


Uncommonly Pretty

by supersoakerx



Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Henry Cavill - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Afternoon Tea, First Meetings, Multi, Victorian, Victorian Attitudes, Victorian John Watson, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28730139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersoakerx/pseuds/supersoakerx
Summary: Here is the first part of an Enola Holmes AU story calledUncommonly Prettywhere Sherlock Holmes (played byHenry Cavill) and Dr John Watson (played byTom Hiddleston) develop an infatuation with the Reader (you!) and naughty sexy smut ensues.
Relationships: Dr John Watson/Reader, Dr John Watson/You, Sherlock Holmes/Reader, Sherlock Holmes/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Uncommonly Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> I’d love to hear your thoughts on this little opening gambit!  
> For fics outside of the ADCU fandom, come find me on Tumblr: https://ladyfloriographist.tumblr.com/

The finely decorated knocker seemed to be nickel-plated cast iron. You stopped before the large, black, six-panelled wooden door, topped with an arched stained-glass transom, and gazed at the intricacies that some talented smith had managed to work into the metal.

The details were so profoundly handmade that you hesitated to hook a finger into it and tap it against the small iron knob beneath to announce your arrival.

However, Mrs Hudson was expecting you for tea and biscuits, and it would not do to follow up the first favourable impression you’d left on your new neighbour with a poorer second one.

Clutching a modest bundle of tea cake in one hand, you tapped the door knocker with your other, and took the polite, customary step backwards from the threshold.

Before your low-heeled, laced-up boot even touched the concrete step, the door was flung open from the inside, and Mrs Hudson greeted you merrily.

“How do you do, Miss?” she smiled over your last name, and her round face and kind eyes shone with the glow of receiving a newly formed acquaintance as a guest for the first time.

You returned her infectious smile. “How do you do, Missus Hudson?”

“Come in, poppet. Come in,” she said, hurrying you inside with eager, welcoming gestures. “I’ve warmed the pot. Here, let me take this.” She took the tea cake from your hand and thanked you graciously for bringing it.

“Thank you, Missus Hudson,” you said as you stepped inside 221B Baker Street. Mrs Hudson bid you make yourself comfortable while she steeped the tea; and what a fine hat that is, poppet; and did you trim it yourself; and do you take sugar, ducky.

By the time you sat opposite Mrs Hudson at her respectably quaint tea table, the woman had asked you ten or more questions and given you scarcely enough time to answer all but two of them.

“A seamstress, ma’am,” you interjected, and Mrs Hudson smiled warmly and took a sip of tea from her dainty porcelain teacup. “Millinery is a past-time but one I would gladly devote my working hours to were I able. The terms of my employment presently call for dressmaking.”

“Gifts all worth cultivating, ducky,” Mrs Hudson nodded sagely. “Two skills will serve you better than one in this town.”

You smiled at Mrs Hudson’s wisdom, and sipped your tea while you thought better of mentioning your less ladylike aspirations. Reading was one thing, but writing, researching, _publishing_ —good Heavens, for a woman, they were all something else.

“Thank you, Missus Hudson,” you started to say, but before you could finish a loud crash sounded from upstairs.

Mrs Hudson jumped. “By George!” she spluttered, flustered as she dabbed at the tea that had spilled out of her small cup in her startlement. “Those. Oh, those _boys_!”

You looked to the ceiling with trepidation, and Mrs Hudson noted the alarm on your face.

She tapped you a few times in quick succession, firmly but reassuringly on the hand. “Not to bother with it, ducky. Don’t fret yourself. Those two’re always—”

A door slammed shut, and two sets of heavy footsteps bounded down the stairs that led up to the second storey apartment. Two muffled male voices huffed laughs and exchanged excited exclamations.

Mrs Hudson stormed to the door of her sitting room, which opened onto the entryway foyer, and wrenched it open roughly. “Sherlock! John!” Her voice rose as she tried to gain the gents’ attention. “What is the meaning of this? I have company!”

You snuck a look into the foyer you had earlier entered by. Two taller men towered over the shorter, heavier set, lovely Mrs Hudson.

“An experiment, Missus Hudson,” said the broader one who had a shock of dark curls, as he pulled on his coat.

“Oh it always is, Sherlock!” came Mrs Hudson’s exasperated reply.

“Ehm. Sherlock…” murmured the leaner one with shorter, gingerish-blond hair and a light smattering of stubble. His gaze was fixed on something out of your line of sight. The coat rack, perhaps.

The one called Sherlock followed his friend’s gaze. “Missus Hudson?” the brunet enquired of his landlady, one dark brow quirked and the makings of a smile teasing his features as he eyed her.

The blond turned to Mrs Hudson also, with glimmering suspicion in his eyes. “What company have we so rudely disturbed, kind lady?”

You swallowed, and sat up straighter in your chair. It would not be totally improper for Mrs Hudson to introduce you to her… acquaintances? Lodgers? The three seemed more familiar, on friendlier terms than that—and you fidgeted needlessly with the collar and tie of your blouse to right it and ensure you were presentable, for any moment now—

Mrs Hudson turned to you with an apologetic smile. “You don’t mind, do you, poppet?”

“Not at all, ma’am,” you heard yourself say—and pleasantly, too. Not missing a beat.

She gave you a quick smile, crinkling her nose, then turned back to the two tall gentlemen. With an air of feigned irritation, she said, “Well come on then!” and gestured them into her sitting room with a wave of her hand.

The men followed behind her, walking with a slow, leisurely gait that bordered on the predatory, especially in contrast to Mrs Hudson’s shorter, quicker strides as she hurried to seat herself opposite you. Combined, it lent the fellows a sense of comfortable ease to be in Mrs Hudson’s apartment, and stopping before the tea table, the faintest of smiles graced their handsome features as the pair gazed at you.

Such striking blue eyes so consumed your attention that you almost didn’t register Mrs Hudson speaking.

She had just finished introducing you, and went on to say, “this is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective for Scotland Yard, if you please—” the brunet man blinked slowly and smiled warmly, “—and this is Doctor John Watson, who operates a medical practice in Kensington, don’t mind if I do—” the blond subtly tilted his head to the side and smiled kindly, “both of whom reside in the upstairs apartment.”

Both of them? Upstairs? “How do you do?” you greeted them, and followed it quickly by saying, “a pleasure, gentlemen. We are neighbours.”

“How do you do?” replied Dr Watson.

“You have taken the lodging at 221A, Miss?”

His voice rolled over your last name with a deep rumble. “I have. The upstairs apartment, also,” you said, and perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the two gentlemen seemed to share a swift sidelong glance at each other before regarding you once more. Outwardly ignoring it, you said, “I arrived not three days past, and had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the kind Missus Hudson on my first day in London.”

“Indeed,” said Sherlock, and the intensity of his now scrutinous gaze started to unnerve you.

“Missus Hudson is a dear friend, for whom we hold much affection,” said Dr Watson with what appeared to be genuine fondness and good feeling. Grinning, he slung a jovial wink at Mrs Hudson, who blushed and playfully dismissed him with a flick of her hand.

“You are come to the city alone?” said Sherlock, breaking through the frivolity.

“Sherlock!” exclaimed Mrs Hudson—but he continued to stare directly at you, and with a creased brow and pursed lip.

What were the chances, you consider inwardly, that so wild an assumption just happened to be correct in this instance. “Astute, Mister Holmes!” Your interlaced fingers flexed against each other in your lap. “A clever guess.”

“It wasn’t a guess,” he said, so firmly it was almost stern.

“We’d best be on our way, old boy,” John said quickly with a light tone, and he glanced between yourself and Sherlock as he pulled his gloves from his coat pocket.

“Right you are, Watson,” said Sherlock, finally tearing his attention away from you. “A fine spread, Missus Hudson,” he complimented his landlady with a smile, “apologies to have caused a disruption to your afternoon tea.”

“No bother,” sighed Mrs Hudson. “When can I expect you home, you two?”

Dr Watson blinked and opened his mouth, hesitantly, to speak, and Sherlock promptly turned from her without answering.

“Welcome to London, Miss,” Sherlock said to you with a genial nod and twinkling eyes. All trace of his prior severity had vanished.

“Most pleased to make your acquaintance,” smiled Dr Watson with bright white teeth. His eyes and mouth crinkled with the depth of his pleased, playful expression.

The pair of them made you return serve with a broad grin of your own, which you shared between them. “Quite. Thank you indeed, gentlemen.”

The pair parted your company, and as the door closed Mrs Hudson sighed and pulled a napkin over her lap. She shook her head, muttering about the impropriety of two such fine, full grown men as that, as she reached for the jam.

Outside and down the steps, Sherlock adjusted his tie and Watson checked his pocket watch, the two taking pains not to meet each other’s eyes.

After a few moments of pointless fidgeting, John cleared his throat. The case first, and this new acquaintance second. He glanced down Baker Street. “Shall we go on, old chap?”

“She is uncommonly pretty,” Sherlock rushed to say at the first opening of conversation.

“Exceedingly so,” Dr Watson said vehemently, relieved, all pretence dropped. He turned quickly on his heel to face Sherlock as if to emphasise his agreement with eye contact.

“Striking, John.”

“What are we to do, Sherlock?—"

Sherlock’s broad chest rose in a sigh.

“—The woman is our neighbour!” He quietened himself down, tossing a quick glance at the sitting room window of 221B. “She lives right next door,” he hissed. “We will share a wall, Sherlock—we have been for three days!”

“I know that, John.”

“And?”

“And…” Sherlock trailed off and squinted, looking in the same direction Dr Watson had earlier perused. Then, briefly glancing at his friend and clapping him on the upper arm, Sherlock said, “it means we shall see more of her all the easier,” and set off, strolling past John and down the street.


End file.
